


Set in Stone

by GhostOfDorothyStreet



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gen, character death except not, hinted at Gobblepot, mentioned Nygmobblepot, post episode 3.14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 01:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10674573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostOfDorothyStreet/pseuds/GhostOfDorothyStreet
Summary: Months after Oswald Cobblepot's disappearance, a memorial is held in his honour...





	Set in Stone

Somehow the whole day felt unreal.

Jim wasn't sure if it was the surreality of the scene - a crowd of the great and the good of Gotham's high society, mixed with some of the more colourful members of its underworld, expensive suits and studded leather jackets, fur coats and concealed weapons, all gathered on a hilltop in a cemetery under a purplish overcast sky - or his own numb near disbelief.

That he was attending Oswald Cobblepot's funeral.

Well, technically not a funeral. They had never found a body to bury, nothing had washed up on the banks of the Gotham river, but in spirit it was much the same. Closing the door on the life of Gotham's former Mayor, and one of its most notorious criminals.

Even after the rigmarole into the investigation of his death, and the merry dance they'd all been led in by Edward Nygma before the man had finally broken down and admitted to everything, it still didn't seem entirely real that he was actually gone. That the Penguin was really and truly dead.

"I always kinda figured the little freak was immortal," Harvey had said, "That they could drop the bomb on Gotham and all that'd be left is cockroaches, Twinkies, and the Penguin."

But lo and behold, invitations to Cobblepot's memorial service had arrived for them both. 

Harvey's invitation had arrived in the station mail, addressed to him as 'Captain' rather than to Harvey himself, a courtesy no different than those extended to other public figures in the city, reflecting Cobblepot's status as the late Mayor. 

Jim's had been delivered by hand.

Cobblepot's big tame gorilla, Gabe, had shown up at the station, with a few days worth of stubble and tired, bloodshot eyes. He had thrust the envelope into Jim's hands in a way that brokered no argument.

"Boss liked you. Always called you his friend," Gabe had said, wiping at his nose with the back of one large paw, "Would mean a lot if you came."

Jim had nodded at him,unsure of what to say, and Gabe had slouched off, looking more than a bit lost and desolate, and leaving Jim clutching the slightly crumpled invitation.

It had been plain white, printed on what was clearly leftover stationery from Cobblepot's time in office, but at the time all Jim could think of was another invitation that had been placed in his hands a couple of years earlier.

_It wouldn't be the same without you..._

Jim had turned that one down. He couldn't have done the same again.

After the crowd dispersed, Jim found himself compelled to linger a while. He turned down Harvey's offer of a drink, telling him he would see him at work, and was soon left alone on the hill.

The leaves rustled in the trees that bordered the graveyard, and somewhere nearby a crow called - a harsh, macabre sound - but it was quiet enough that when Jim spoke it sounded unnaturally loud to his own ears.

"I'm sorry, Oswald."

He closed his eyes, hands curling into fists.

"I should have said that when it mattered. Should have said a lot of things really."

He sank down onto one knee in the damp grass, a chill seeping in through the fabric of his suit.

"You drove me kind of crazy a lot of the time," his lips quirked in a regretful half smile as he reached out to brush his fingertips against the cool marble, "I was never quite sure how to read you, whether you were honestly trying to help me or just using me to get your own way... looking back I think it was the former more often than I ever gave you credit for."

He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face.

"You always said we were friends, but I know that you were a much better friend to me than I ever was to you. You were never the monster I wanted to pretend you were, it was just... easier to blame you for my problems than to face them. And you deserved better than that. We hadn't really talked much in a while. Maybe becoming Mayor made you realise you were actually better off without me. Can't help wondering if maybe I could have helped, if I'd known what was going on. All I know is, I wish I'd made things right with you before it was too late. And strange as it might sound, I already miss you..."

"Why James Gordon, I am deeply touched."

He spun around at the sound of a familiar voice, nearly falling onto his back in the process. The softness of the ground had muffled the sound of approaching footsteps, and not five feet away from him stood the last person he had expected to see.

Oswald Cobblepot grinned at him.

"Hello old friend."

Jim's mouth went dry and he staggered to his feet, frightened instinct taking over from logic for a long moment. Then the details began to sink in, telling him that this was clearly no ghost, nor a figment of his imagination. A spectral or imaginary Oswald wouldn't have appeared to him so casually dressed - faded black slacks, a grey shirt and a blue knitted sweater that was clearly too large, hair free of wax or gel, soft and shifting slightly in the cold breeze - the figure in front of him was too different to be a memory, but too familiar to be anything but the real thing.

"Why are you here?"

The moment it passed his lips it sounded a remarkably stupid question to ask, even to his own ears, and indeed he caught a glimpse of a quick and achingly familiar eye roll before Oswald began to walk towards him.

"What man wouldn’t want to attend his own funeral?" said Oswald, a teasing quality to his voice,"I must say, it wasn’t a bad turn out, all things considered."

He stepped past Jim, gait more uneven than ever on the spongy grass, and heaved himself inelegantly on top of the headstone.

_It’s not a headstone, it’s a memorial. There was no body, so it’s not a grave…_

Oswald’s heels thudded gently against the surface of the polished, black marble, his own name and dates of birth and death visible between his parted legs.

Jim swallowed.

"How did you survive? Nygma… he told us all what happened…"

In the dock, Ed had collapsed first into helpless giggles and then into sobs, pride in what he'd achieved giving way to crushing guilt over what he'd done. Jim had almost pitied him.

Oswald shrugged his shoulders, nonchalant.

"You know, this is the second time that river has failed to kill me. I’m thinking of spreading a rumour that I’m deathly afraid of the thing; make it my own personal briar patch."

" _Oswald..._ "

He must have noted the impatience in Jim’s voice, and sat forward, expression more serious.

"Does it really matter how I came back? This is Gotham, people do it with alarming regularity," he slid down from his perch, bracing himself with one hand atop the marble, "The point is that I am in fact, back. Though I would appreciate it if you kept that fact between us."

Jim frowned, perplexed.

"You haven’t told any of your men?"

Oswald shook his head.

"As of yet, no. The moment hasn’t been right."

"Some of them are pretty torn up about it all," he remembered Gabe, the huge man looking so deflated with his tear reddened eyes, "Don’t you think you owe it to them?"

Oswald gave him a sharp look, pale green eyes boring into him.

"What I owe them is a respite from all this," his voice was hard, brittle, "As things stand, trying to help me would only put them in danger, and do me little good besides. I’ll tell them, eventually, but not yet."

He turned away from Jim then, beginning a slow and careful descent of the hill. Jim watched him for a long moment, but made no move to follow yet.

"You let me know though. That you’re alive."

Oswald turned his head, looking back at Jim over his shoulder, the action seeming almost coy.

"Well. You and I have always had a special sort of connection," he gave Jim a sad sort of smile, "Haven’t we."

Thankfully it wasn’t really a question, because Jim had no real answer to it. 

None but to follow Oswald down the hill.

They soon fell into step next to each other, the gradient of the hill and the damp grass causing Jim to take his time to avoid slipping, and somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Jim was walking through a graveyard with a dead man, and already his life felt like it made more sense than it had earlier that morning. They shared few words, but the quiet was more companionable than awkward.

Slowly but steadily they made their way down towards the road where Jim had left his car, Oswald checking every once in a while that they weren' being watched. When they were within sight of the road, he halted Jim with a gentle touch to his shoulder that sent an involuntary shudder though Jim's body. If Oswald noticed, he didn't comment on it.

"I'm afraid this is where I leave you," he said, voice quiet and regretful, "But before I go, would you mind doing me one favour?"

Jim let out a short bark of laughter. "Of course you want a favour."

Oswald gave him a huffy, affronted look, and seemed about to argue until Jim held up a hand, still laughing to himself.

"Just, tell me what you want, Oswald."

Oswald narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope.

"I was just hoping, if it's not too much to ask, if you could pass this letter on to Ed," he chuckled bitterly, "I'm not exactly able to visit him in Arkham."

Jim took the envelope from him, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his lip.

"After everything he did to you, you still want to keep in touch with him?"

Oswald smiled, sadly.

"The heart wants what it wants, Jim."

Jim remembered Ed's tears in the dock, his half mad ramblings about love and betrayal. How he'd seemed to ask forgiveness of a man who wasn't there.

"Yeah, I guess it does."

Oswald's lips tightened, and he gave Jim a curt nod, wringing his hands for a moment before holding one out to Jim.

"Well, farewell for now, Jim..."

Jim looked down at Oswald's outstretched hand, and before he could talk himself out of it, grasped it and pulled the smaller man into an embrace. Oswald gave a surprised gasp and clutched the back of Jim's jacket with trembling fingers, as Jim tightened his hold on him. 

"I meant what I said, back up there on the hill," he said, voice a choked whisper, "It's good to see you, Oswald... I'm glad you're back."

"It's good to _be_ back, old friend."


End file.
